


Target Practice

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, gangster au, oikawa is an informant, sugawara is an underground doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't trust him," they said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target Practice

**Author's Note:**

> For the SASO prompt  
> Package: briefcase with a slight ticking sound  
> From: Oikawa  
> To: Sugawara  
> Note: Die.

The doorbell rang at midnight. 

Sugawara hadn't been asleep. He'd been taking inventory of his stock of medication and supplies. He did this religiously, not wanting to fall short of any one thing when he might need it. His patients were irregular and their issues ranged from minor to might-need-an-amputation catastrophic. He prided himself on always being prepared. 

Sawamura, one of his kinder patients, always joked that it was because Sugawara overthought things. That he actually worried about his clients even though he shouldn't. “You can't trust them,” he'd say, and Sugawara would shoot back with “Can I trust you, then?” and he was always sad when Daichi shrugged and looked away. 

He might have been a gang leader, he might have done some questionable things in the name of his city, but Daichi was nice. A lot of people weren't nice. Not to Sugawara. He was just a service to them. They'd rather not have to deal with him. 

When the doorbell rang at midnight, Sugawara hadn't had any patients that day. He opened the door, expecting something like a bullet wound or intestines hanging out of someone's stomach. Nothing good happened after 10pm. 

But when he opened the door, he found a briefcase with a note taped to the top resting on the floor.

He bent over to read the note, noticing at the same time that there was a noise coming from the briefcase. Ticking. He jerked back just as the ticking stopped, just before he could read the note. 

The briefcase exploded. Or, it made a muffled thudding sound and burst open. 

Sugawara wasn't thrown back. Smoke poured from the open briefcase and Sugawara registered that it was a smoke bomb that was filling the hallway to his apartment and rendering him near-blind. He threw his arm over his mouth, coughing, squinted through the smoke. He saw a black figure coming from the opposite end of the hallway. 

He cursed and moved back, trying to close the door, but a loud crack pierced the air and Sugawara's left leg crumpled. He hung onto the door, trying to pull himself up as sharp pain burst through his leg. The figure closed in, and Sugawara reached into his pocket for the scalpel he always carried around just in case. He was too late. The figure slammed something into his head, and everything went dark. 

*

“You can't trust the underground doctor,” they said. They being everyone Oikawa talked to, all of whom were also patients of said underground doctor. Why? “Because he's unaffiliated.” 

It was refreshing, actually, from Oikawa's point of view. He spent so much of his time acting political. Being careful with every action and every word planned because he was associated with so many damn gang members. He was also like the underground doctor, unaffiliated, occasionally swearing his allegience to one gang for the duration of a job and a sum of cash before moving onto the next. He was pretty sure all those gang leaders were telling themselves not to trust Oikawa, either. 

He wanted to meet this other person who was in the middle of everything without actually being directly involved. He thought he'd pay a visit. 

Instead he got stabbed. 

He ended up on the doorstep of the underground doctor after the guy he was doing the job for, Bokuto Koutarou, panicked and insisted that he couldn't go to a normal hospital because they'd ask questions. Which was fair enough. They would ask questions. Stabbing was technically a crime. 

So he agreed. 

Bokuto was kind enough to drop him off at the doctor's apartment building. Oikawa insisted on going inside on his own, something that he regretted as he staggered out of the elevator and made his way down the hall to the door marked #202. It looked no different from the other doors lining the hallway. He raised the hand not wrapped around his stomach to knock several times. 

A young man, around Oikawa's age, opened the door. He had pale skin, ash blond hair, and a mole next to his left eye. His eyebrows shot up. So did Oikawa's. 

“You're not a doctor,” Oikawa said. 

“Oikawa Tooru,” the young man said, and Oikawa's jaw dropped. 

“I've never met you before,” he said. 

“You have a bit of a reputation,” the young man told him, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. His eyes flickered down to where Oikawa had his arm wrapped around his stomach and his eyebrows scrunched together. “You're bleeding.” 

“I'm stabbed,” Oikawa said, “and I was sent here, so I need a doctor.” 

“Come on.” The young man grabbed Oikawa's free arm and pulled him inside, locking the door behind him. “Please tell me you don't have anyone after you.” 

“No, they were satisfied with killing me,” Oikawa said. “Dying. Which I will be soon.” 

The young man pushed him into a room set up with a hospital bed. “Lay down.” 

Oikawa settled down on the bed. He realized the young man was wearing a white lab coat. He'd turned away from Oikawa and was putting a bunch of things on a tray. Then he started pulling on gloves. He set the tray next to the bed and leaned over, observing the blood welling up from under Oikawa's arm. 

“I'm going to need you to remove your arm from your stomach,” he said. 

“Don't tell me you're the doctor,” Oikawa scoffed. “You're too young.” 

“And you said you were dying,” the young man said. “Don't you not have time for this?” 

Oikawa lifted his arm, which felt heavy because his sleeve was soaked through with blood and he'd been holding it in that one position for so long. The young man—doctor—removed Oikawa's shirt and began pouring antiseptic on gauze. He started to wipe down Oikawa's skin and the injury itself. Oikawa winced. 

“I'm Sugawara Koushi,” the young man said, sounding like he wasn't poking and prodding at the gaping wound in Oikawa's stomach. “I'm 24, if you were curious. The reason I'm so young and a doctor is because my family was pretty eccentric and I'm pretty smart, so I just completed medical school early.” 

Oikawa gritted his teeth as Sugawara poked around his wound and tried not to show how much pain he was actually in. “And why, Doctor Sugawara-” 

“You can call me Suga.” 

“Why, Suga, are you an underground doctor?” 

Suga's smile turned lopsided. “Ah, well, a lot of my friends and family were involved in gangs.” 

“Oh. Ouch!” Suga had just poked through Oikawa's skin with a needle. An actual needle. 

“Sorry. I'm starting to stitch you up.” 

“Already?” 

“Yeah. The bleeding was pretty bad,” Suga said, “but infection was and still is the biggest risk. You have to make sure you heal properly and keep the wound clean. Luckily, although it was somewhat deep, whoever stabbed you missed any major organs, which is why I didn't sedate you and perform surgery.” 

Oikawa swallowed. “Oh.” 

“You just need some rest. And maybe some sugar and juice for the bloodloss. And painkillers.” 

“You could've given me something for the pain before you started stabbing my skin with that needle,” Oikawa pointed out, wincing as Suga threaded through his skin. He actually got the nerve within him to watch. He caught sight of Suga's nimble fingers and the needle before he saw it slide through his skin like butter and he had to look away. 

“You seemed to be in a hurry,” Suga said. 

“Bastard,” Oikawa hissed. 

“Besides, I only use that stuff for the really serious cases,” Suga said. “I don't have the best access to supplies. I try to keep a lot in stock but I can't be guaranteed to get more.” 

“You're a pretty shit doctor, then,” Oikawa said, “if you can't tend to all your patients' needs.” 

“I guess you're right,” Suga laughed. “Done.” He stepped back, peeled off his gloves. “The stitches dissolve when the wound closes, so you don't need to get them taken out.” 

Oikawa slowly sat up. His stomach hurt. He noted with some satisfaction that there was blood on Suga's white labcoat. 

“Are you going to kick me out now?” Oikawa asked. 

Suga shrugged. “You can do what you want. I need to clean up. You should probably clean up.” 

Oikawa tried to stand and swayed on his feet. Immediately, Suga's hands were on his arms holding him steady. Suga's face was close as he forced Oikawa to sit back on the hospital bed. 

“Maybe you should stay a while,” Suga said. “I can get you something.” 

“How kind,” Oikawa muttered. 

“I'm not a monster,” Suga told him. “I don't make patients leave if they can't walk. I'll be right back.” 

He left. Oikawa didn't bother laying down again. He looked around the room. It looked a bit homier than a normal hospital room. There was a noticeable lack of that machine that read pulse and heartrate, and he wondered if Suga had either of those things. He wondered how many patients Suga got. 

He thought back to what he'd been told about not trusting Suga. On the surface, Suga looked harmless. He didn't even look like a doctor. But something about him put Oikawa on edge. Maybe it was his willingness to dive right into medical procedures without giving any warning (or painkillers) or the way he didn't seem to let Oikawa's comments get to him. Oikawa couldn't quite get a read on him. 

Suga returned a few minutes later in a sweater and jeans, labcoat off, and holding a glass of orange juice and a plate of milk bread. Oikawa narrowed his eyes as Suga held both things out. 

“How did you know that's my favorite?” he asked. 

“Lots of people like milk bread,” Suga said, “but I'm glad it's your favorite. Take it.” 

Oikawa cursed as he took the juice and plate. He hadn't meant to reveal that about himself. The blood loss probably gave him less of a filter. He sipped on the juice and Suga sat next to him. 

“So, what do you do?” 

Oikawa nearly choked. “What?” 

“You got stabbed by one of the gangs around here,” Suga said. “I know about you. I've heard people talk about you. Oikawa Tooru, who has all the information. You're an informant. I didn't know you actually got into fights, though.” 

“It was an accident,” Oikawa said. “People want you to get them information and get angry when they find out that you might be doing the same thing for someone else. Can you imagine?” He grinned around a mouthful of milkbread. 

“The nerve,” Suga agreed. “My patients are like that. They think that I won't treat people from rival organizations. Sometimes they walk in on each other here!” 

“Mm-hmm.” Oikawa swallowed his milk bread, already feeling revived. “Did you make this?” 

“Nope. Bakery. Who was your job for today?” 

“Now, now, Suga-chan, I just can't go giving away everything,” Oikawa said. He glanced at Suga to see his reaction. Suga just shrugged. “You wouldn't give away your patients, right.” 

“There are laws about that,” Suga said. 

“And your practice follows the laws?” Oikawa asked. 

Suga tilted his head, but he said nothing. 

Oikawa finished the juice and the bread and this time managed to stand without falling over. Suga stood as well. 

“Are you sure you can make it home?” he asked. 

“Would you take me?” Oikawa asked. “Do you do house calls?” 

“Sometimes.” Suga was serious. “It's dangerous out there. It's getting dark soon.” 

“You're concerned about me being in danger,” Oikawa said, laughing. “I'll be fine. I'm too valuable to die.” 

“Everybody thinks that,” Suga said, his expression going dark. “They're usually wrong.” 

“Is that so?” Oikawa said. “Thank you for the stitches and the milk bread, Suga-chan.” He bowed. 

Suga rolled his eyes. “I'm serious. Be careful. I don't like repeat patients.” 

Oikawa grinned. “I'll stay out of your hair, then.” 

He left and noticed that Suga followed him all the way to the door and locked it as soon as Oikawa had crossed the threshold. 

*

He meant to keep his word. 

But Oikawa didn't get to spend a lot of time with people not wrapped up in gang activity. Technically, he and Suga were the most wrapped up in it because they served everyone else. But they were also free of alliances, which meant that they were also the least wrapped up in it. Oikawa wanted to talk to someone else like that. 

He hated that whenever he talked to gang members he liked, he couldn't spend too long with them because otherwise it would be viewed as favoring one organization for another. It would cost him business and possibly his life. He had to meet his friends in secret, had to be careful to separate work and personal relationships even though his friends were so wrapped up in their own work that it became who they were. Iwaizumi was the biggest problem: Oikawa's best friend and the leader of the Aoba Josai gang. 

It would be nice, Oikawa thought, to have a friend who wouldn't possibly kill him for knowing too much one day. 

So he bought milk bread and went to Suga's apartment a week after their first meeting. To replace the milk bread he'd eaten that Suga hadn't necessarily meant to give him, he told himself. 

He knocked on the door and Suga opened it slowly. His eyes narrowed when he saw Oikawa. “Again?” 

“I come in peace and health!” Oikawa held up the bag. Suga's eyes widened in surprise. 

“What is this?” He opened the door and stepped back to allow Oikawa in. 

“Where's your kitchen?” Oikawa asked. 

“This way.” Suga gestured past the living room. Oikawa went into the kitchen and placed his bag on the counter, took out the package of milk bread and held it up. 

“I figured I owed you.” 

Suga was speechless for a moment, eyes still wide. Then he smiled. “You just want an excuse to eat milk bread, don't you?” 

Oikawa sputtered. 

“I'll eat it with you,” Suga said, sitting down on the opposite side of the counter, “if you tell me why you're really here.” 

“Is it that weird to just say thank you for your service?” Oikawa asked. “I didn't pay you. Where do you even get your money?” 

“Other clients do pay me, actually,” Suga said. “Enough so that it doesn't matter if you don't. Or,” his lips twisted, “if you pay me in milk bread.” 

“I can pay you in real money!” Oikawa cried. 

“It's fine,” Suga said, unwrapping the milk bread. He offered a piece to Oikawa, who took it. “But why are you really here?” 

“I think you're interesting,” Oikawa said. “Are you this way to all your friends?” 

“What friends?” Suga asked. 

Oikawa stared at him. 

Suga burst out laughing. “Given that most of the people I know are in gangs,” he said, “I am this way to all of my friends. At first.” 

“Then you become like an actual person?” Oikawa asked. 

“I've been nothing but nice to you,” Suga said. His eyes lit up as he seemed to realize something. “Oh! Can I check your stitches?” 

“You are not allowed to touch them,” Oikawa said. “They've started to dissolve.” 

“Good. Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I'm sure. Gosh, it's all medicine with you.” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I should take my milkbread elsewhere.” 

“What do you want to do?” Suga leaned forward on the counter, resting his chin in his hands. “Gossip?” 

“I have gossip for days,” Oikawa said, smiling wide. “Don't you?” 

“Oh, I can tell you things,” Suga said. “I actually can tell you things, without names.” His smile faded. “If you're interested, anyway. A lot of people don't like talking medicine and stuff like that.” 

“I'd be interested,” Oikawa said. 

So Suga started telling stories. Stories of the most bizarre injuries he'd seen, the worst timed accidents, the sort of things medical school could never had prepared him for. He talked about how he wished he had someone to assist him, how he wished he had more equiptment, but how much he liked having to think on his toes and be resourceful. Oikawa tried to guess who these patients were, then told stories of his own. It was a like a little game, seeing if they could guess based on the details of each story who the other was talking about. 

Amazingly, they were never interrupted. Perhaps because they always met at different times due to both of their schedules. Perhaps because Oikawa had taken to calling ahead. 

Oikawa enjoyed the animated way Suga talked, how passionate he clearly was about medicine and fixing people up even when they came to him with the strangest problems. Especially when they had the strangest problems. He would often have trouble keeping still, his hands moving, sometimes to imitate certain medical procedures as he told his story. Sometimes he would move closer to Oikawa, then grab him or poke at his arms and torso to demonstrate where injuries were. Oikawa let him. He enjoyed the light touches. 

He realized that he didn't get touched a lot. 

Suga would react to Oikawa's stories with loud laughter and wide eyes. He would pay full attention to Oikawa. At the end of one of their get-togethers, he smiled at Oikawa and said, “It's amazing.” 

“What is?” Oikawa asked. 

“How much you love people.” 

*

“Ushiwaka asked me to convince you to meet him again.” 

“Tell him to suck it.” 

Iwaizumi ran a hand through his hair. “You know I can't do that. In the event that you don't meet with him, he told me to give you the job myself.” 

“I don't like his jobs,” Oikawa said. “You know that.” 

Iwaizumi shifted. He looked uncomfortable. “The thing is...this job is something some of the other organizations are pushing for, too.” 

“Aside from Shiratorizawa?” Oikawa asked. 

“Yes.” Iwaizumi grimaced. “Aoba Josai is...neutral on the job. Nekoma grudgingly agrees that it might be for the best. Nohebi wants it done.” 

“That's not a lot, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pointed out. “The others disagree?” 

“Or they don't know,” Iwaizumi said, “because they aren't allied with Shiratorizawa in any way.” 

“Oh.” 

“The only ones who are allied with Shiratorizawa who didn't want this job to take place are Fukurodani,” Iwaizumi said. 

“Well,” Oikawa sighed, “I guess now I just have to know. Damn Ushiwaka.” 

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, and it occurred to Oikawa that he didn't want to tell him. 

“Wait, Iwa-chan, do you approve of this job?” 

Iwaizumi grimaced. “I...think it's a smart move. The problem is that it's a hit.” 

Oikawa hummed and tapped his fingers on the table between them. “I don't get those too often. They're usually more than happy to take it upon themselves after I give the appropriate info.” 

“It's not someone from a rival gang,” Iwaizumi said, “so I guess they feel like they don't have the right.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Basically, Shiratorizawa and the others want you to kill Sugawara Koushi, the underground doctor.” 

Oikawa felt like the floor had dropped off from underneath him. Normally he had a good poker face, but he couldn't help the choked noise that slipped out, nor the shocked look on his face. 

Iwaizumi frowned at him. “What's wrong?” 

“I think you know what's wrong,” Oikawa said, leaning forward. “He's unaffiliated. He treats most of the people who want to kill him. I bet he's treated you once. He doesn't take sides. Just because I'm a bit of a mercenary doesn't mean I kill indiscriminantly.” 

He didn't mention that he'd been seeing Suga for more than treatment. That he knew Suga now. 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, “I know all of that. But like you said, he treats everyone. He's treated me. He knows a lot about a lot of different people.” 

“If he dies, who will people go to when they're hurt?” 

“There's talk of recruiting doctors into individual organizations,” Iwaizumi said, “which would have been the smart thing to do from the start. Instead we let an outsider treat us, and now he knows too much. There are also rumors that he has affiliated himself with someone.” 

“Who?” 

“Karasuno.” 

Karasuno was one of the weaker organizations in the city. They'd moved from Sendai, originally, because most of the members' careers were better served in Tokyo. They didn't make a lot of trouble, but they were rising by making alliances with powerful organizations like Fukuradani. They hadn't yet used Oikawa's services. 

But Oikawa couldn't say the same about whether or not Karasuno used Suga. And if they did, their absence from Shiratorizawa's proposal either meant they didn't agree or they didn't know. 

Not that it mattered to Oikawa, but it clearly mattered to everyone else. Suga knew too much. He might be more friendly with other organizations. To everyone else, that was dangerous. 

Oikawa could see where this was headed. 

“He needs to die just because of a hunch,” he said. 

“I'm not happy about it either,” Iwaizumi said, “but the rumors aren't based on nothing. Tendou Satori started tailing Sawamura Daichi not too long ago. Sawamura ends up at Sugawara's apartment quite a lot for someone who isn't injured.” He took something out of his messenger bag and placed it on the table. A stack of pictures. Oikawa only needed to look at the first few, time-stamped, to know what it was: a record of Sawamura's comings and goings from Suga's apartment. 

Oikawa felt cold. He was at Suga's apartment a lot for someone not injured, but no one was tailing him. He wasn't sure what bothered him more: the idea of someone tailing him to find out if he was friends with Suga or the idea that Suga had another friend that he treated the same way as Oikawa. 

“I guess I have no choice, huh,” Oikawa sighed, leaning back. Iwaizumi put the photos away. 

“I'm sorry.” 

“That's too bad,” Oikawa said, standing up. “Sugawara-san seemed like a nice guy. I guess you can't trust anyone in this business, right?” He gave Iwaizumi a crooked smile. 

“Oikawa-” 

Oikawa walked away before he could hear the rest of what Iwaizumi had to say. 

* 

A bullet could cut through skin, muscle, and bone in less than a second. Oikawa was a good shot. Even with the smoke, he should have been able to hit his target in the head or in the heart. Both fatal injuries. 

But his arm moved of its own accord, he shot, and the bullet sliced through Suga's left thigh. He heard the cry as the bullet hit home. 

He rushed down the corridor to find Suga slumped against his door. His eyes were on Oikawa but his right hand was fumbling in his labcoat for something. Oikawa raised his gun and in the seconds before he brought it down on Suga's head, he saw a flash of silver in Suga's hand: a scalpel. 

Suga never got to stab him. Oikawa dragged his body into the apartment, locking the door behind them, and into the room with the hospital bed. He managed to lift Suga onto it. Then he examined Suga's leg. 

He was no doctor. Suga's jeans were soaked in blood and Oikawa couldn't tell how serious the wound was. He dropped the gun and looked around for something to tie off Suga's leg. He couldn't find anything. He grabbed the gun off the floor and wondered if he should just finish the job. 

He knew as soon as he turned back to Suga that he wouldn't be able to. 

He dropped the gun and it clattered to the ground. Suga jerked at the sound and his eyes opened, his face pinching with pain. He glanced at Oikawa, then at his leg, and then let his head fall back with a groan. 

“Why?” 

Oikawa flinched. Suga raised his head to glare at Oikawa, but with the pain and perhaps because of his emotions it just looked sad. Still, Oikawa found himself stuck to the spot. 

“Why were you seeing Sawamura?” he asked. 

Suga's mouth opened and then closed. “You shot me because I have another friend?” 

“He's your friend?” 

“I'm bleeding.” Suga pushed himself so that he was sitting up straighter, then pushed his jeans down his hips. As the fabric went past the wound he bit his lip, but kept pushing until his thighs were clear. Blood washed Suga's pale skin red on his left thigh. 

Oikawa stared. 

“Are you going to help?” Suga snapped. 

“Right.” Oikawa moved forward and tugged Suga's jeans all the way off. Suga's hands were shaking. He gripped the sides of the bed. 

“I need you,” he said, “To figure out if there was an exit wound. Just...lift my leg. See if there's another hole.” 

The wound on Suga's thigh could hardly be called a hole. It looked more like an obliteration. But Oikawa lifted Suga's leg, trying not to feel nauseous as blood dripped onto the sheets. The skin there was closed. 

“There's nothing there.” 

Suga cursed. “I'm going to give you a list of things I need,” he said, “and I need you to bring them to me. That is, unless you would rather kill me?” The bitterness in his voice made his words hit like knives. 

“Okay,” Oikawa said. 

“First, I need that band of rubber over there.” 

Oikawa brought it over and Suga tied a torniquette over his upper thigh. He then began describing various medical instruments, which Oikawa brought over and placed next to the bed. When he was done, Suga grabbed a syringe and needle and began assembling them. 

“Hang on,” Oikawa said as Suga pushed down the plunger to make sure there was no air in the syringe, “what the hell are you doing?” 

Suga didn't answer. He plunged the needle into the wound and depressed the syringe, then tossed the whole thing aside. 

“Suga!” Oikawa rushed forward, but Suga held out a hand. 

“I need to get the bullet out and close the wound,” he snapped, “or else it'll get infected. I don't see anyone else who can do that here.” 

Oikawa wanted to scream. Suga couldn't possibly be doing surgery on himself. 

But as Suga pulled on a pair of gloves and reached out a shaking hand for a magnifying device and scalpel, Oikawa realized that was exactly what he intended to do. 

The worst part was, he couldn't come up with a better solution. 

The worst part was, this was his fault. 

Suga dug the scalpel in and made a low noise, gritting his teeth. 

“You didn't numb it?” Oikawa asked, voice high. 

“Gah.” Suga pulled the scalpel out, gasping. “It wasn't enough.” 

“Do you have more?” 

“It's fine.” He repositioned the scalpel. His hand was still shaking. “Talk to me.” 

“What?” 

“I n-need a distraction. Tell me why you s-shot me.” He dug the scalpel back in. Oikawa caught a flash of something white that he hoped wasn't bone, but it might have been. 

“The gangs don't trust you,” Oikawa said. “Not all of them, just some of them. The powerful ones. Shiratorizawa, Nekoma, Aoba Josai. Those are the ones I heard. They thought you knew too much, and have proof that you've been seeing Sawamura of Karasuno. A lot.” 

Suga didn't respond. He groaned, twisting the scalpel. Oikawa felt sick, but he didn't look away. This was his fault and he had to watch. 

“I was hired to kill you because that's something I get hired to do sometimes. Very rarely, when the gangs don't want blood on their hands and don't want any connection. I didn't want to take the job.” 

“Oh,” Suga gasped, and twisted the scalpel harder. There was a scraping sound. Suga screamed and Oikawa's vision blurred. He felt like he was going to faint. His ears were ringing. 

Suga stopped screaming. 

Oikawa's vision cleared. 

Suga's hand was closed over something, scalpel tossed aside. He looked up at Oikawa, then turned his hand over and opened it. 

A small black object sat in the center of his palm. 

Suga gave him a tired smile. “G-got it.” 

Oikawa swayed. “Suga...” 

“You c-can't faint on me,” Suga said. “I was the one w-with a bullet lodged in m-my bone.” 

Oikawa clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Anyway,” Suga sounded giddy now. He grabbed some gauze and disinfectant. “You sh-shot me in the leg. That's n-not fatal if it's treated. Then you knocked m-me out, but dragged m-me in here.” He was still shaking. 

Oikawa dropped his hand and took a deep breath. He didn't want to watch Suga struggle to stitch his own wound, but he didn't know how to stitch one himself. 

“W-why were you upset about D-daichi?” Suga asked. 

“Sawamura almost got you killed,” Oikawa snapped. “He's the reason that no one trusts you. They think you allied yourself with Karasuno.” 

“The answer d-doesn't m-matter,” Suga said. “I d-don't think anyone will believe me n-now. But you were upset.” 

“I thought you'd thrown it all away for him,” Oikawa said. 

“Whether I d-did or not, the r-result is the s-same, isn't it?” He choked out a laugh. 

“I'm sorry,” Oikawa blurted. “I didn't want to kill you. You're one of the only ones who understands. Maybe you are the only one who understands what it's like to just watch everyone from the outside and have a lot of power but nothing stable to base it on. Because this could happen to me, too. One day they might stop trusting me.” 

“Not if you're more c-careful than I was,” Suga murmured. He finished stitching his wound and started taping gauze to his leg to cover it. 

“I have friends,” Oikawa said. “But I don't have anyone I trust as much as you.” 

“Why did you accept the job?” Suga swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing. He sat leaning forward, looking up at Oikawa. Looking tired. 

“Someone else would have.” Oikawa groaned. “I fucked up. I should've found another way. Maybe,” his eyes widened, “maybe we can run away to the country. No one will find us. We can disappear and live together. Or apart, but together if you want to? I want to. No one would hurt us. No one would even know we existed.” 

Suga fixed Oikawa with a strange look, like he was seeing straight through him. “You wouldn't be satisfied with that lifestyle. You love people too much.” 

“Then what do you want?” Oikawa snapped. “For me to finish the job? Kill you?” 

“I'll disappear.” 

Oikawa choked. “W-what?” 

Suga smiled up at him. “I don't want you to get hurt for not being able to kill me. I'll be gone by morning.” 

Oikawa stared at him until Suga's attempt to stand had him rushing forward to grab Suga's arms. Suga looked up at him, still smiling, but the smile had turned sad. 

“Stay,” Oikawa said. 

“We both know that's a terrible idea,” Suga said. 

“I didn't do this just to lose you,” Oikawa said. 

“I know.” Suga attempted to support himself without Oikawa's support. He reached up to cup Oikawa's cheek. His hand was cold. “I know. You'll know where I am, even if no one else does.” 

“Koushi?” 

“I don't want to lose you, either,” Suga murmured. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Oikawa's. 

Oikawa tasted blood. He kissed back, hard, raising one hand to grasp the back of Suga's head, tangle his fingers in Suga's hair and keep him there. 

Suga pulled away first. “If I had to die, I'm glad you're the one who killed me,” he whispered. 

Oikawa replied with another kiss. 

Eventually, Suga put the gun back in Oikawa's hand. 

The job was done. 

Oikawa had to leave. 

* 

In Tokyo, Sugawara Koushi was dead. He died in October. 

In February, snow brought Tokyo to a standstill. Oikawa didn't receive much business. He was bored. Suga was right. He liked people too much to not have anything to do with them. 

He went to Iwaizumi's apartment for a day just to have someone to talk to and to see what Iwaizumi let slip about Aoba Josai's activities. Iwaizumi always let something slip even if he never meant to and even though he was on his highest guard with Oikawa because Oikawa collected information like hospitals collected blood. 

Even Iwaizumi had very little to say, and Oikawa returned to his apartment empty-minded. He opened the door and some snow drifted in with his boots. The wind from the outside blew a small envelope that had been snuck through his door across the tiles. Oikawa picked it up. 

The only thing written on it was the characters of his name. He opened it. 

Inside was a note and several lines of code. The code, Oikawa assumed, was a method of contact online. 

The note made up for the quiet weeks of winter. 

“Tooru, I found a safe place. My leg is healed. Thanks for the cool new scar. If you ever need a break you'll know where to find me. In the meantime, I miss our talks.”


End file.
